Paul might have hesitated about accepting the invitation to attend a
fashionable party if he had not been on such cordial and friendly terms
with his young hostess and her family. He was sure to be kindly treated
by them and by the majority of the guests who very properly follow the
lead of their entertainers. He foresaw that Mark would snub him if he
had an opportunity, but for this he cared little. It was clear that
Mark was foolishly puffed up with an idea of his own consequence, and
had been accustomed to look with scorn upon all who were not on the
same social plane as himself.
Paul had for some time been thinking of ordering another and newer
uniform, and thought it good policy to do so at once, that he might
have the new suit to wear for the first time at Jennie Cunningham’s
party. It is the custom for boys to obtain them from the company,
paying by installments, or regular weekly deductions from their pay.
The next morning some surprise was excited at the office by the receipt
of a square envelope, of perfumed French paper, directed to
PAUL PARTON, A. D. T., No. 91.
“A love letter, I suppose,” said the chief, with a smile, as he handed
the note to Paul.
Paul opened it, and, having no reason for secrecy, passed it to the
superintendent.
“An invitation to a fancy dress party!” said that official, in
surprise. “You seem to be pretty thick with the Cunninghams, Number 91.”
“They are very polite and kind,” said Paul.
“I suppose you are trying to ingratiate yourself with the young lady.”
“I am too young to think of that,” answered the telegraph boy, very
sensibly.
“Shall you accept the invitation?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must go in fancy dress.”
“I have already decided to go as a telegraph boy.”
“Then you knew of this before?”
“I met Miss Jennie yesterday in Madison Square, and was told she meant
to invite me.”
“You are a lucky boy.”
“So I think, sir.”
From that time Paul was treated with greater consideration in the
office, the chief regarding him as a _protege_ of the Cunninghams. This
was an advantage, for he was now employed on the most agreeable and
desirable commissions that came to the office.
On Wednesday morning Paul said to old Jerry: “I shall be home late
tonight, Jerry.”
“Why, Paul? Will you be kept at the office?”
“No; I am to attend a party.”
Jerry opened his eyes.
“A party! Where, Paul?”
“In Fifty First Street. It is a fancy dress party.”
“But how came they to invite you?”
“They employed me on one occasion, and have treated me in a friendly
way since.”
“I don’t understand it, Paul. Is it a--a rich family?”
“Yes, Jerry.”
The old man’s eyes lighted up hopefully.
“And they are good friends of yours, Paul?” he asked.
“Yes, grand--yes, Jerry.”
“Then, Paul, you can do me a great favor. You will, won’t you?” pleaded
the old man, coaxingly.
“What is it?” inquired Paul, suspiciously.
“Tell them how poor I am, Paul, and ask them if they won’t help me.
It would be nothing to rich folks to send an old man ten dollars, or
twenty, and would do me a sight of good.”
“You must be crazy to ask me such a thing,” answered Paul, sternly.
“Have you no shame, or do you think I have none, to beg money of
strangers?”
“But I am so poor, Paul,” whined the miser.
“I am tired of hearing of that, Jerry,” said the boy, with an
expression of disgust on his face. “It was bad enough when I believed
you to be really poor, but now that I know you to have plenty of money,
and are very likely rich, it makes me sick to hear you tell such
falsehoods.”
“Is this the way you talk to a poor old man who has brought you up?”
whined old Jerry.
Paul was in no wise moved by this appeal. He knew too well the extent
of his obligations to the old miser.
“I have always paid my way, Jerry,” he said, coldly. “Even when I was
only six years old, I earned all I cost you. If you think I am any
expense to you, I am willing to leave you any time.”
“No, no, Paul,” said old Jerry in alarm. “I can’t spare you. I am
getting old, and I don’t want to be left alone.”
“Then don’t ask me to do what I am ashamed of, Jerry.”
Paul arrived at the party about twenty minutes after eight. He did not
care to be among the first in attendance. He was shown upstairs to the
gentlemen’s reception room, and, having adjusted his toilet, went
downstairs. Jennie and her mother stood at one end of the drawing room.
Paul made his way towards her, and, following the example of other
guests, shook hands, and offered congratulations, for it was Jennie’s
birthday.
“I am glad to see you, Paul,” said Jennie, with a smile, and her mother
echoed the welcome.
Turning away, Paul met the eyes of Mark Sterling, bent upon him with a
satirical look.
“Good evening,” said Paul, politely.
“So you’re on hand!” said Mark, not over courteously.
“As you see,” answered Paul, coolly. “That is a fine costume of yours.”
Mark sustained the character of a young Highland chieftain, his dress
being quite costly.
“Yes,” he answered, his vanity gratified, even by a compliment from a
telegraph boy. “You’ve got a new suit, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“It is a pity you went to such an expense. No one is likely to take
much notice of a telegraph boy.”
“O, I shall use it on duty,” answered Paul. “You are very considerate
for me.”
“Paul, let me introduce you to Miss Grace De Vere,” said Mrs.
Cunningham.
Paul bowed politely to a pretty brunette of fourteen, dressed as a
flower girl.
“Shall we promenade?” asked Paul, observing that many of the guests
were walking in couples.
“Yes, if you like. I suppose it is very appropriate for a telegraph boy
and a flower girl to walk together,” said Grace, laughing. “What a very
natural telegraph boy you make! Where did you get the uniform? Did you
borrow it of a real telegraph boy?”
“No,” answered Paul, “I had it made expressly for me.”
“I suppose that is better. I hired my suit of a costumer.”
As Paul and Grace were promenading, they met Mark escorting a
pale, sallow girl with a long nose, but very expensively dressed
as a maid of honor. Mark turned up his nose, but looked rather
envious, nevertheless, for Grace De Vere was not only pretty, but
of high family. He said something to his companion, and both stared
impertinently at Paul.
“Do you know Mark Sterling?” asked Grace.
“Only a little.”
“I don’t like him at all. He is awfully disagreeable. He looks as if he
didn’t like you.”
“I don’t think he does. Can you tell me the name of the young lady with
him?”
“It is Irene Braddon. Do you admire her?”
“I prefer my present partner,” said Paul.
“Thank you; you are very gallant. Still, it isn’t much of a compliment.
Irene belongs to a rich family, but she is disagreeable, and few like
her.”
“Is Mark an admirer of hers?”
“He likes to be seen with her because she is of a rich and prominent
family. But he likes his cousin, Jennie Cunningham, best. He is jealous
of every boy who pays her any attention. But I want to ask you a
question. Why have I never met you before at any parties? I am sure I
should have remembered you.”
“This is the first party I ever attended.”
“Indeed! How can that be?”
“Because I am really what I represent, a telegraph boy.”
Paul watched the face of his young companion closely, fearing that this
revelation would cut him off from her favor.
“You don’t mean to say that you are the telegraph boy that frightened
away the burglar?” inquired Grace, eagerly.
“I believe I am.”
“Why, you are quite a hero!” exclaimed Grace, enthusiastically.
“O, no,” answered Paul, modestly. “It didn’t take much courage.”
Grace asked Paul a great many questions, and did not seem at all
shocked to learn that she was escorted by a common telegraph boy.
“Come, Grace,” said Jennie, after a while, “we can’t have you two
monopolize each other. My cousin, Mark, solicits the honor of escorting
you. Paul, if you are a very good boy, you may walk with me.”
“Did you know, Miss Grace,” said Mark, “that you were walking with a
real telegraph boy?”
“Yes, he told me so.”
“I am surprised that my Cousin Jennie should have invited him here.”
“I am not at all. I think him the handsomest boy at the party.”
“There is no accounting for taste,” rejoined Mark, very much disgusted
at this laudation of a boy he despised.
“He is so agreeable, too,” added Grace, with malicious pleasure at her
companion’s discomfiture.
“He has plenty of cheek!” said Mark. “He tries to make himself very
conspicuous. It would be better taste to stand quietly in a corner.”
Later in the evening, Paul became more conspicuous, and Mark became
still more disgusted with him.